


Things We See Not

by shadows_and_afterimages



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, F/F, Gen, Mild femslash, implied emotional struggle, mostly just riding on the feels, set around twotl and later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadows_and_afterimages/pseuds/shadows_and_afterimages
Summary: There wasn’t one ounce of discretion in Freddie Lounds’ movement as she raised her camera, zooming in on the delicate features of one Reba McClane. She let her finger linger on the shutter release, relishing in the rare opportunity to get the perfect angle at her leisure. It’s not like she was at any risk of losing her target, or, Heaven forbid, being seen.St. Louis, Missouri. Who would have thought the famed Freddie Lounds would be here, of all places, when what could be the biggest media storm after Hannibal the Cannibal was unfolding hundreds of miles away, right back at her homebase. Oh, but then, who’d have guessed, under this deceptively cold Midwest late winter sun, that the eye of the storm was forming right here, at this forgotten and abandoned trophy of the industrial era.





	Things We See Not

**Author's Note:**

> While this is set in St. Louis (I'm not sure if it's still the same in the TV series but I'll take my chances), I've never been there and Freddie's view of the city certainly doesn't reflect my own.

****

Dr. F. Chilton was always just as much of a delight, with or without a few layers of skin. Freddie showed her teeth upon stepping inside the room, matching the permanent grin on his lipless mouth. The door clicked shut after her, but she didn’t take even one step further.

“I have to say you are looking remarkably fine, Dr. Chilton,” she began, careful to keep the smile affixed and her eyes trained on his, even as she snapped at least fifteen pictures in succession from her compact camera. At least one of them would turn out frontpage-worthy--she’d had more than enough practice.

Chilton did a quite impressive eye-roll, not too surprising when his eyes were the only thing functional on his half-roasted face. His speech, though, was anything but. The sounds out of his mouth was little more than indecipherable gibberish. 

A tiny pull of genuine feelings widened Freddie’s smile a fraction as she made a show of pausing to add the missing consonants, not-so-subtly mouthing the words as she tried to figure out what he said.  _ “Thank you, Miss Lounds. For a Dragon victim, I’m feeling splendid.” _

“Enough to deal with all the legal issues of claiming a trademark for the name of your next book? You would have such a singular retelling of the tale, too. An unique  _ voice _ , some might say.”

The stiff facial muscles made for superb eyerolls, but was bad news for glare, Freddie duly noted. It could come in useful for future articles, who knew. 

“I believe we’ve arrived at the reason why your request for a meeting was accepted,” Dr. Chilton declared, with as much imperiousness as anyone could muster with all his ‘m’ and ‘p’ missing.

“Oh? Are you suggesting you would need help  _ writing _ , Dr. Chilton? Is it harder, being in a victim’s frame of mind? Would you like to acquire the help of an outside narrator? As you’ve put it, quite frankly, that a collaboration between us was ‘unimaginable’, I’m sorry to say I have a hard time  _ imagine _ what role I could play in your next book.”

Chilton made a jerky, aborted movement--his state didn’t allow for all that much mobility. Silence fell as both of them attempted to gather their wits, no sounds audible but the bizarre clicking of teeth as Chilton opened and closed his mouths a few times without letting out a coherent sound, and, to Freddie’s ears, the too-loud sound of her own breathing.

_ Get yourself back together.  _

And she did. Professionals didn’t let past frictions dictate future endeavors, and Freddie Lounds was nothing if not a professional--even if not one of the ‘official’ names acknowledged her ways.

 

\-----------

It might just be worth it after all, enduring the presence of Frederick Chilton (with promise of more to come)  _ then _ going all the way out into this Midwest city dead in the middle of nowhere. Lowering the camera, Freddie let her gaze follow the slim figure bundled in plain grey trench coat, blinking to adjust to the suddenly manifested distance without her telephoto lens. Reba McClane was walking along the promenade in even, measured steps, metal cane clicking on the sidewalk in a steady rhythm. Just from what she’d gleaned, Freddie was surprised the poor thing had yet to go back to… wherever she originally was from, to be honest. Who knew, she might just stumble upon another Abigail Hobbs here. 

It’s a little mundane and way below her skill set, following and photographing a target that didn’t even have any chance of discovering her, much less avoiding the attention. Freddie made up for it by filling in as many details about the girl as she could from a distance--if everything went as planned, it would be a lot more than just TattleCrime articles she would be writing this time. Better safe than sorry, Freddie told herself as she filled up yet another SD card.

At least the girl was photogenic, Freddie thought as she sifted through the day’s album. Might as well. She hadn’t had the chance to practice photography just for the sake of it in a while. 

 

\-----------

Camera in hand, Freddie resisted the childish urge to make a show out of snapping pictures of the two FBI agents in civilian clothing. Their ability to blend in hadn’t gotten any better in the entire time from when Freddie started documenting McClane’s remarkably quick and efficient move from her old townhouse to this small riverside apartment--or more specifically, FBI’s not-all-that-discreet involvement in the process. Well, at least it was yet to be good enough to fool someone with eyes like hers. It’s immensely satisfying, having the upper hand in this cat-and-mouse game for once. 

She’d gotten pulled aside two days after arriving at St. Louis, and had taken tremendous pleasure in watching their faces as she requested a call straight to Jack Crawford.

“Miss Lounds,” the FBI director groused from the other end of the line, not one ounce of respect in the polite and proper address. “I was informed you’ve been interfering with classified information regarding one of our important cases--again.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘interfere’, Agent Crawford. I just happen to be at the right place, in the right time.” The pleasant smile plastered on Freddie’s face widened a little as she listened to the muffled background noise from the other end, probably filtered through a couple of fingers on the mic. Jack Crawford was not having a good day. 

“Look,” there was resigned weariness in his voice when he returned, “I don’t care how you got the information, or why the hell you are always there to make every case you touch ten times worse, but back off this time. Get away from that girl, get away from everything concerning the Dragon, at least until he got caught. We’re risking enough to catch him without you sniffing around, mucking shit up.”

A moment of silence. When Freddie spoke again, her voice was as carefully manicured as ever. “You mistook my intention in making this call, Agent Crawford. It seems like our paths have again converged. I was hoping we can work out another mutually beneficial course of action.”

 

\-----------

Reba McClane’s life was excruciatingly boring, Freddie concluded in almost no time at all. Home at night, work in the morning, weekends spent holed up in her new apartment. Not one smallest deviation. Even her groceries were periodically delivered. She took the same route home every afternoon, up the paved pathway along the riverside, back to a modest second-floor apartment within a tiny six-storey complex located in the northernmost part of the city. From outside, all Freddie could document was the rusty red brick front strewn with ivy. There was no balcony, and the curtains were always closed. Combined with the fact that she was also new in the neighborhood, practically no one knew anything even remotely interesting about the new occupant, except for the obvious fact that she was blind.

To hell with what Jack Crawford wanted. Time for a more drastic measure.

 

\-----------

“Oh! I’m so sorry, dear, that was terribly careless of me. Are you okay? Do you need any help…”

Nice and easy, a tourist in a rush, clumsily bumping into a blind woman. Play up the awkward embarrassment, keep her tone adorably frustered. She might have overshot it a little though, if the way her target had frozen in place, not even attempting to retrieve the cane she’d dropped with the impact was anything to go by. Didn’t matter. Freddie caught the cane for her in one smooth move. Nice and easy.

“Freddie Lounds?” Apparently not caring even a bit about the cane, the girl chose instead to interrupt Freddie’s practiced ruse. 

Freddie’s hand stilled mid-motion. The McClane girl was smiling slightly, round, dark eyes framed in thick lashes still staring straight ahead. Did she use makeup, or was it all natural? That was some envy-worthy lashes there. How would she even go about applying cosmetics, Freddie wondered. 

“I’ve been warned about you.” 

The casual remark was enough to pull Freddie back to the present. She gritted her teeth. “Will Graham?”  
“Yes.”

“What gives?”

“He said you smelled like privacy invasion and stinky fake news.”

Freddie gnawed at her lower lip, mentally keeping tally. Her next article on the FBI’s once-favorite toy was not going to be pretty.

The girl huffed out a small laugh, carrying on with a trained lightness in her voice that was beginning to grate on Freddie’s nerves. It revealed nothing at all, and Freddie’s impressive experience in reading subtle social cues was proving to be useless. It’s more frustrating than she’d thought. Well, at least she had no reason to make sure she was putting on the appropriate facial expression herself.

“It was your camera shutter. Tourists don’t often come all the way up here looking for the Arch, and I’m not so obsessed with my job as to be able to hear imaginary shutter clicks all the way back home. Besides, recordings of your voice were not hard to find.”

This girl. Keeping her temper in check was proving harder than she thought. “Done your research, haven’t you?” 

The smile not really directed at her was as pleasant as ever. Maybe it was the lack of focus in her eyes, the place where most people find it the easiest to read one another’s social cues, that made the sight a little jarring. “I figured this day would come.”

Oh, darling, don’t overestimate your importance, Freddie wanted to tell her. Instead, she held out a hand, carefully touching just her fingertips to the girl’s right hand to signal she’d like a handshake. Well, if the softened approach was not working, time to play the professional angle. 

“Well then, let’s try this again. Reba McClane, isn’t it? I’m Freddie Lounds, journalist at TattleCrime.com. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about what you’ve been through the past few months? I understand if you’d like to be discreet--in fact, I would love to make one, or maybe a few, appointments...”

 

\-----------

She could have done this a million different ways, deliberately provoking for headline-worthy quotes or prodding for the most deliciously well-hidden emotional baggages. In fact, Freddie envisioned exactly that as she waited on the promenade outside of Gateway Studio over the next three days, the hot afternoon sun of a spring moving too quickly into summer beating down her back. Instead, she’d have to play the sympathetic ear, to someone who’s not even willing to talk.

Well, at least the sun was not out today, mocking her for her gloomy mood. In fact, the rapidly swelling thunderclouds were satisfyingly fitting, for once. 

She’d succeeded with Abigail Hobbs, Freddie had to constantly remind herself, the rapidly falling twilight doing nothing to lift her bad mood. She would have had a career-defining book from everything that’d been going on around that girl, had it not been for Will Graham and his disastrous love life. Not this time. There’s no one standing in front of her on the line at the moment, and she would damn well make use of that.

Freddie tapped the heel of her leopard print leather boot on the sidewalk, then gave up with a huff when the irregular staccato rhythm just served to further annoy her rather than offering any distraction. Three days, and still nothing. 

Granted, given the McClane girl’s hermit schedule, Freddie’d managed hardly fifteen minutes of direct contact everyday, during her daily walk home. That should have been more than enough in most cases, but not one line of Freddie’s rather impressive sweet talk repertoire had lured any reaction out of her. Not a word back, not a twitch of reaction, not a damn change in her perfectly measured pace. The girl was, perhaps not unreasonably, but certainly annoyingly, good at deflecting attention. Her days of riling up a certain ‘not real FBI’ agent were so, so much more enjoyable in comparison.

She tossed aside her nostalgia aside almost immediately upon hearing the distinctive taps of metal cane on the ground. The girl’s almost five minutes late. Not a big deal, except that she had been freakishly punctual every other day. Was that normal for a Friday, or did something happen? Freddie searched for some clues in her facial expression out of reflex, only to give up with a frustrated huff. A pretty enough face, but the problem was it’s almost always annoyingly  _ blank. _

Not bothering with introduction, she casually fell into step almost as soon as Gateway Studio was out of sight. The girl had probably learned to recognize her by the sound of her footsteps or something by now, given how their first conversation had gone. “Looks like it’s gonna rain today. Would you like a ride home, Reba?”

It was polite and innocent enough, as far as conversation starters went. Yet. Freddie noted with interest the almost imperceptible movement as Reba’s thin shoulder straightened. 

“I can manage, thank you.” 

A verbal response! Talk about improvement. “Well, the offer still stands if you happen to change your mind. How was work?”

“Are you expecting a polite non-answer fit for small talks, or will I find whatever I say plastered on your website tomorrow?”

“I would much rather present to my readers something we both deem appropriate.” If you would just  _ cooperate _ , you stubborn little hothead.

They walked in silence for a while. It looked like today’s reserve of conversation was already drying up, Freddie contemplated as she tamped down the the annoying nagging doubt that she’d misstepped somewhere. Lost in thought, she almost failed to contain her surprise when Reba finally spoke. “Work was fine. Someone came into the dark room for assistance, and I was just glad it wasn’t for questioning.” And then, after a beat. “Thank you for keeping out of my co-workers’ sight.”

“Glad you noticed, but it was for my benefits as well as yours.” Freddie bit back, and then almost had to bite down on her tongue. Her impatience was getting hard to contain. 

“I’m surprised no media shitstorm has been raised around here yet. You’re usually much faster.”

Oh screw it. She wanted open and frank, Freddie could certainly give her the unsweetened and not dumbed down version of the deal. “Long-term goal, darling. As I’ve said, what I’m interested in is an exclusive contract. Your full story, in whichever medium you prefer. Book, interview, documentary, you name it. The FBI has done a good job keeping you out of the limelight so far, and that’ll work to our advantage.”

“Especially yours, since your usual competition is currently compromised.”

Freddie chuckled despite herself. “Poor Dr. Chilton, yes. Clever girl. I have a feeling we will work very well together, Reba.”

“ _ If _ we work together.”

“Well, you are talking to me now. Wouldn’t it be so bad to try this out in a more professional settings? I can outline the details of what you’ll get out of this.” It looked like the way to get to Reba was to let her take the reign. Fair enough. She wasn’t sure what prompted this lively and practical version of the girl, but Freddie’d be a fool not to make use of it. 

Practical’s good. Practical’s easy to work with. The delight that was Abigail Hobbs came to mind. Such a pity that girl wasn’t around for longer. Could have groomed her into something beautiful.

The silence lasted even longer this time. Freddie was torn between nudging Reba some more and treading carefully so as not to break this new fragile truce. Hopefully she’d get something more out of the girl, her thirteen-and-a-half minutes were almost up.

Finally, Reba drew in a sharp breath. “My work at the studio… It’s not sustainable.”

“Memories tied to physical locations could create triggers that are difficult to navigate.” Now things were getting interesting. Freddie put on her best sympathetic listener front. “Was it where you first met?” She already knew it was. Keeping a low profile didn’t mean she couldn’t get in a few questions here and there.

Reba huffed out a choked laugh. “That, and more.” She didn’t elaborate. 

“I was planning to go back inside sooner or later, working with kids with hearing and speech impairment,” she continued, after a beat. “I don’t know if that plan could work, now. At this state, I’m not so sure of anything anymore.”

Freddie went over the intel she’d managed to gather. The Dragon had a history of disfiguration… and speech impairment. “Talking about it helps, sometimes. Get some closure. Give yourself a signal to put things firmly in the past, let bygone be bygone. I can help you do that. We can start in any way you feel most comfortable about.”

“I…” Reba let out a shaky exhale, and Freddie’s hand stilled halfway upon touching the tight skin over the girl’s knuckes. She wasn’t sure what she was doing. Trying to ease that death grip on her poor cane? It certainly looked uncomfortable.

“Maybe another time.” Reba’s words resounded like a rock thrown into a deep, dark well, and Freddie halted in her track, her own hand curled into a tight fist. Slowly, she lowered her arm until it was limp down her side.

 

\-----------

Reba’s irregular, hurried steps came to an abrupt halt. A delicate hand flew up to touch her own cheek. “Is it… raining?”

Freddie looked around with some surprise. Lost in the thrill of the promising hunt, she had all but forgotten about the impending bad weather, not to mention the rapidly emptying street. “If it’s not already, it’s going to soon. Where were you headed, darling? I’m not all that familiar with your part, or any other part, of this city, mind, but I think we went past the junction that’d lead you home a while ago.”

“I…” Reba drew in a shuddering breath, audible even with the wind starting to howl around them. She looked small and frail all of a sudden, trench coat wrapped tight around her thin figure, jet black curls flying every which way. Perhaps, too busy drinking her fill on Reba’s sudden sharing mood that day, Freddie had missed more than just the weather forecast. “I lost my temper, and… I stopped noticing. I… I don’t know where we’re at. I don’t  _ know. _ ”

Freddie raised a hand to touch her, grabbing her arm to steer her attention back to the present, perhaps, but thought better of it. “Well, I don’t see any street signs, but we’re still on the riverside, so chances are all you need to do is turning around. Sooner rather than later though, I don’t need to remind you just how  _ not  _ safe it is to be out around this area at night.”

“Riverside, hmm?” The almost-whisper was not really directed at her. Reba inclined her head, giving Freddie a perfect view of her tightened jaw line under the flickering streetlight, wind-shuffled tree branches casting continuously moving shadows on her profile. A few flicks of her cane, and she managed to locate the leg of a weathered wooden bench. Nimble fingers ran alongside the dry, splintered plank on its back. Freddie watched her, incredulous, as Reba maneuvered herself around to sit down on the bench, even as fat raindrops started to rapidly dot its surface. “Thank you,” she said without turning back. “Take your own advice, get a taxi, go back to your hotel before the storm hinders traffic. I’d like to be here for a little while.”

“Like hell I will,” Freddie muttered, whipping out a neatly folded burgundy umbrella. “Sorry, darling girl, but I’ve got enough beef with the FBI without the charge of having their precious little Dragon survivor dropping dead in the rain, after constant contact with me for nearly a week.”

She stalked forward, shaking out the umbrella, already knowing the flimsy material would offer little help against the wind. Holding tight onto the handle, Freddie fished out her phone with her free hand, calling the already-familiar taxi number. Telling him to pick her up about a ten-minute walking distance further north, she ended the call quickly just as a particularly strong gust of wind threatened to rip the umbrella out of her hand.

“My taxi will be here in about fifteen minutes. Whatever’s convinced you sitting down on the riverside is a romantic notion  _ in pouring rain _ , shake it off before then.” She didn’t even bother to look for a reaction, too busy gripping onto the umbrella handle with both hands. It’s a struggle keeping them both dry. 

Luckily, the wind died down as rain started falling in earnest, and Freddie’s main concern became just the volume of water pouring down around them. Reba still hadn’t moved, as if barely noticing she wasn’t as wet as she by all means should have been.

The wait felt a lot longer than fifteen minutes, and it wasn’t just because of her rising impatience as chill and dampness seeped into her skin. Reba sat ramrod-straight, facing the gushing river as if she was really enjoying some extraordinary sights. Despite the sheer impossibility of the notion, Freddie found herself looking out in the same direction. Pre-programmed curiosity, her biggest strength and ultimate curse.

She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she did something so utterly dumb and pointless, staying out in heavy rain after nightfall with nothing but a flimsy umbrella for protection. It’s gotten dark a while ago, the only light source around them a old-fashioned lamp  post to her left, close enough to the river bank that its light reflected on the dripping wet metal railing. Freddie spared no more than a brief glance at the incessantly moving streaks of glittering raindrops filtering through the sphere of light. Ain’t that a universally miserable sight, and she’d gotten enough reminder of her misery through the rapidly dampening garments sticking into her skin.

Why the hell did this this silly, impossible girl insist to stay out here? All she’d got to go on with was touch and sound, and the was hardly anything enjoyable about former, except for maybe the distant promise of finally being lulled into numbness. 

Resigned to her fates and desperately needing a distraction, Freddie briefly debated the pros and cons of investing on a better umbrella, before scrapping it altogether for a big fat sticky note to never, ever provoke unpredictable freaks with unfathomable behavioral patterns again. It’d probably last a day, maybe a couple of hours, depending on how promising a headline today’s prey was going to compensate her with, but the note needed to be there by principle.

Maybe the spell of numbness was actually working, Freddie thought as she listened to the dull, reverberating sounds of heavy raindrops hitting on the tightly stretched fabric of her umbrella. It felt like a temporary lapse in space and time, infinity wrapped within a flimsy bubble of inadequate protection, one that isolated and bound as much as it safeguard.

Well, at least she wasn’t standing over a half-corpse with all his inside plucked out and put in his own hands this time. Freddie flexed her fingers as if still feeling the phantom pressure of the hand pump, fighting the sudden urge to reach for the frail, painfully rigid shoulder that was just  _ right there _ . Just a fleeting, reassuring touch. To whom, she was not sure. 

Instead, her hand fell on the back of the bench, inches from making contact. Almost surprised at herself, Freddie silently cursed the general existence of irrational bursts of sentimentality.

\-----------

Freddie almost heaved out a hearty sigh of relief as a pair of headlights shone from behind them, the strange bubble of tranquility easily burst without the surrounding darkness. Whatever hollowness its disappearance left within her psyche was easy enough to ignore.

She tapped Reba on the shoulder, praying to whatever deity above (but definitely not the one that was pouring icy water on them at the moment) that the girl was over her ridiculous fit. “Our ride is here. Come on, stand up. I’ll lead you to the car, there are puddles everywhere.”

She grabbed Reba’s elbow as the girl complied, not even caring about spooking any oversensitive nerve at this point. Screw it, she’d attempt to placate whatever damage she’d done once she could park her ass somewhere warm and dry.

Lucky for them both, Reba was, for the time being, amenable. They got into the car with minimal fuss, the driver, already familiar with Freddie’s daily antics, just raised an eyebrow. “Where to, Miss Higgins? Back to the hotel?”

“Not yet, Dave. Can you please turn around? Let’s get my friend back home first. Thank you so much for coming for us in this miserable weather.”

“Sure thing, ladies.” He winked at her through the rearview mirror. “Done my fair share of rescuing, back in the day. Now I just battle against traffic and the weather.”

Harmless flirting got Freddie back on familiar grounds quickly enough. Lies overlay with truths, teasing and provoking, fishing for information she’d probably never use. It’s good practice. 

Reba stayed quiet, clearly still lost in her own headspace, but Freddie hardly expected anything else at this point. She nearly jumped when the girl spoke up. “Could you stop at the Montague junction, please?”

“Reba?” Freddie caught herself before she uttered something gauche, like saying she knew where the girl lived. Careless. She’d clearly not at her best performance level, damp and chilled and out of her depth in unknown territories of sentimentality. “That’s too far away, and it’s still raining. Don’t you worry, I’ll tell him where to stop, and we’ll get you back home in no time.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather getting back on my own.”

Freddie’s teeth gnashed together, not even because of the cold this time. This girl and her thrice-damned stubborn streak. She touched Reba’s thin-fingered hand, noticing how cold and clammy it still was, even with the heat on high. “It’s still raining, and you shouldn’t be out alone after dark.”

Reba moved her hand away. “The last time I rode in a car with a stranger and invited him back home, I ended up with a serial killer.” Her voice didn’t shake, but her hands trembled. 

“Well, but you already know who I am, don’t you?” Freddie put on a smile she didn’t feel. Another well-used practice.

“Ladies, I’m driving as slowly as I possibly could. Montague Junction coming up, do I stop or do I go?”

Freddie grabbed Reba’s freezing hand in one resolute move. “Drive on, please. I’ll tell you where to stop,” she said with a pleasant smile. Neither her tight grip nor the silent, brief fight as Reba struggled to break free showed in the rearview mirror.

 

\-----------

Freddie helped Reba out of the car, shoving the umbrella handle in the girl’s free hand as she paid the driver and closed the door. Reba tilted her head as the car drove away. “You are not going back to your hotel?”

“It’s late, darling, and I wouldn’t want to be in a cab all by myself. Would you mind letting me stay the night?” Reba’s hand twitched in hers. It’s a better read of the girl than any facial expression, Freddie’d decided. She pressed on. “Besides, who’s going to take you home? The sidewalk is slippery, not to mention all the puddles.”

“We are… not at my place yet?”

“Just two blocks away.” She didn’t mention that was the pre-arranged pickup point she’d used with the same driver every afternoon for the past week. “Come on, this damned weather is not getting any better.”

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, I WAS doing some editing today... Just not for the story I'm supposed to be working on :/  
> Anyway, this was meant to be for ladiesofhannibal's event... in May lol. I didn't even remember getting this far on it. Some real proof of my procrastination level I suppose.
> 
> I was associating this fic with this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hA04-qnYwys), and I'm pretty sure that was why the structure turned out to be that way. You don't need to understand the lyrics--it's just a series of poetic but fragmented imagery that somehow combined with music to achieve a certain vibe unattainable by words alone.


End file.
